Инструктор. Отчаянный воин. Андрей Воронин
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hometown causing it—not just the need to inform or impress with his knowledge.
“What’s not to love?” he asked, spreading his arms wide to embrace the city. Directly to his left, a college-age girl was loudly being sick into a garbage can. “Well, except for that,” he corrected and steered her away.
The crowds were getting thicker and Colin reached for her hand as they moved farther into the Quarter. This time, though, he pulled her in front of him, letting his arm cross her chest like a seat belt, pressing her against his chest and tucking a hand into the back waistband of her shorts. “Whatever you do, don’t let go of me. I’ll never find you in this crowd.”
Jamie just wanted to lean against him for awhile—maybe rub a little against that chest—but Colin was pushing her forward into the mass of people on St. Peter’s Street. She didn’t think it would be possible, but the crowd got even denser as they crossed Royal, edging closer to Bourbon Street and the epicenter of all things.
Oh, the internet had not prepared her for this. She’d been expecting costumes, and she wasn’t disappointed. Most of them weren’t as elaborate as those worn in the parades, but some did try with large amounts of feathers and rhinestones. The closer they got to Bourbon, however, the smaller the costumes got—leaving elaborate behind in favor of exposure.
There was a man wearing nothing more than a strategically placed jester’s hat and harlequin face paint walking with a man in a crown and a cape who displayed a very long...um...scepter. A man on stilts wearing lingerie and a feathered mask. And the women—she’d never seen so many breasts before, either exposed as a part of the costume or simply bared in order to be showered with beads. Every body shape and type was on display, and she had to have a bit of respect for the people with enough self-confidence to let it all hang out like that—literally.
Jamie hadn’t led a sheltered life, but she had lived a rather circumspect one. She’d been a good girl from a nice middle-class family; there simply hadn’t been much trouble for her to get in to. She’d flirted with rebellion in college, but then she’d met Joey, who had always worked so hard to keep his public image squeaky clean, to be the kind of player that kids would look up to and their parents would be glad for it. It had been one of the things she’d loved about him—even if she now knew it was all a lie—and she’d been happy to adjust her expectations accordingly. So while Joey had been doing a lot of wild partying—along with other things—behind her back, she’d never been a part of that lifestyle. Now her eyes felt as if they were bugging out of her head.
She heard Colin chuckle in her ear. “I tried to warn you.”
“I’m amazed, but you can hold off on the smelling salts.” She twisted around to look at him. “This is unbelievable, though. Is it legal to get naked like that?”
Colin shrugged. “Public nudity is illegal, but on Bourbon Street—especially this time of year—as long as you’re not causing a ruckus, you’re probably safe from arrest.”
“I guess the police have plenty of bigger fish to fry today.”
“Exactly.”
Their progress through the crowd had been slow but steady, giving Jamie the opportunity to look around and absorb all she could, but then they got caught in a raucous pack parked under a balcony.
She’d seen women flashing their breasts from the balconies above and expected this to be more of the same. But she looked up to see a couple embracing quite passionately for their audience. The man had his hand under the woman’s shirt and her leg was hooked around his waist. When the people below began shouting both encouragement and suggestions, the couple began to incorporate the suggestions into their tableau.
Jamie felt her jaw go slack. While she’d never been much of a voyeur before, it was somehow impossible not to watch. It was simultaneously tawdry and erotic, and in this sexually charged atmosphere, its effect on the crowd was electric.
And Jamie wasn’t immune to the effect. She found herself leaning back into Colin a little too much, craving his smell and his heat. She couldn’t help herself.
Colin wasn’t unaffected by this either, and the fingers that held her waistband seemed to move gently against her back like a caress. Colin’s fingers tightened around hers. She returned the squeeze.
Her knees went a little weak and she sagged against him as he exhaled near her ear, and the warmth of his breath caused gooseflesh to rise on her neck.
The noise and the lights and the crowd surrounding her seemed to disappear as Colin’s thumb traced circles against her palm. Her free hand came to rest on the outside of his thigh, and she felt the muscles under the fabric tighten.
Then the crowd moved, sending the guy in front of her staggering backward to bump into her. Drunk and rowdy, he took it as an introduction and made a descriptive suggestion to her.
Before she could do more than gasp, Colin had released her hand and pushed the guy back with a very succinct suggestion of his own. And while her erstwhile admirer was fueled by testosterone and copious amounts of alcohol, Colin stood a full head taller and several inches wider. The man’s friends wisely pulled him back.
Colin shoved the rest of the way through the crowd and back into the street, where the people were at least moving. “Sorry about that. You okay?”
“Yeah.” Although he’d pulled her back against him, the moment had been ruined, and Jamie felt her cheeks burning. She’d been caught in a slow simmer all afternoon, but the overcharged, overindulged raunchiness around her made that moment under the balcony feel slightly tawdry now. She wanted out of the Quarter and back to the earlier mood. “I think I’ve seen—”
She gasped as a blonde in a very small tank top stumbled over her own feet and the drink in her hand landed all over Jamie. Something slushy and pink covered most of her shoulders and chest, and icy rivulets slid down her cleavage. Against the heat and humidity, the cold and wet drink initially felt refreshing, but Jamie’s eyes watered from the alcohol fumes even as it soaked through her shirt and bra to her skin, replacing that refreshing feeling with clammy stickiness.
The girl mumbled an apology, but she seemed more upset by the loss of her drink than the fact that Jamie was now wearing it. The way the girl was weaving, the loss of alcohol was probably a blessing, although Jamie didn’t doubt she’d get a refill quickly enough.
Colin took a look at her and shook his head. “Have you had enough of the Quarter now?”
Wet, sticky and still reeling from that earlier moment, she gritted out, “Very much so.”
Colin surveyed the damage. “Come on. Let’s go get you cleaned up.”
That didn’t seem likely or even possible, and there was something slightly humiliating about the whole thing, but she was now miserable in more ways than she could count, and getting off Bourbon Street seemed like a very good idea regardless. She let Colin lead her through a less crowded back alley she’d never walk into alone, not even for money, and when they emerged on Chartres Street, she realized they were going back to the Lucky Gator.
She’d come full circle.
* * *
He shouldn’t have brought Jamie back into the Quarter—or at the very least, he should have kept her off Bourbon Street. He certainly knew better, even if she didn’t. It was too out of control, with too many people acting like idiots and bordering on dangerous. But there was something about Jamie that made him want to indulge her. She seemed to want to experience everything, give it all at least one try, and she embraced everything with enthusiasm and excitement.
And he had to admit he was rather hoping she’d indulge him back—hopefully with a bit of that enthusiasm, too. It was getting damn near impossible to keep his hands to himself. What had started off as a lark, a little good deed to show her a good time, had turned into something else. Sure, Jamie was gorgeous and he wasn’t immune to that, but there was also something...refreshing about her as well. Something wholesome and sweet that stood out against the decadence of Mardi